


As the Ice Thaws

by goldenforestprince



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Anger, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassination Attempt(s), Banter, Blood Loss, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Cuddling & Snuggling, Elemental Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Magic (mentioned), Gen, Guilt, Happy Ending, Healing, Healing Magic, Healing Powers, Hospitals, Hugs, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Magic, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Injury, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Reunions, Second Chances, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Feels, Stubborn Bucky Barnes, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:26:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenforestprince/pseuds/goldenforestprince
Summary: During a mission to stop an assassination attempt by the Winter Soldier, complications arose. Bucky got badly injured, Natasha made a call, and Hydra's favorite assassin was brought back to the Avengers tower to receive urgent medical care.Steve would have been fine with that. Really. Except that nobody told him that Bucky was finally within reach after being missing for so long. Or that his best friend and past lover was now on the brink of death.Not until they realized that the only person who could save him was Steve.Magic AU





	As the Ice Thaws

Steve stood on the roof of the Avengers tower, the strengthening evening breeze shuffling through his hair as the sun sank low in the horizon. He was alone, and had been for some time, and was more than glad for it. The day was far from over, and Fury had already pushed him to his limit. There were a lot of things the Avenger could handle, so many obstacles he could face and overcome, but he didn’t know if this was one of them.

Natasha was the first one brave enough to approach Steve as he leaned against the railing, lost in thought and very nearly hoping for the rail to snap beneath him. Hitting the ground had to be easier than facing the challenge he knew he couldn’t avoid. He had left Fury’s office in a blaze of temper, slamming the door hard enough behind him that it snapped clean off the hinges, crashing into the glass wall and shattering it. His teammates had watching him, unnerved by the display from their usually calm and collected unofficial leader, and were unsure what to do or what to make of it. Even Fury had seemed impressed.

The redhead let the door to the stairwell slam shut behind her, signaling her approach, and stepped slowly towards Steve. She moved with enough noise and calculated carelessness to let him know she was heading right for him, and wasn’t about to turn tail and run. For Natasha, who could have been silent as a shadow, it was a thoughtful gesture, but not one Steve cared to appreciate at the moment. His fists tightened reflexively, not knowing whose side she was going to pretend to be on, especially with the current issue at hand. She had been far too close to what happened for Steve to just let her off the hook.

“Steve,” she called, pulling him from the dark swirl that was fogging up his mind all too easily. “Fury knows you didn’t want to be part of that anymore, but you’re the best shot we have.” Her voice aimed for casual but fell short. Since the incident with the Helicarrier, the pair had become close, both on the same page – hell, the same paragraph – when it came to dealing with any measure of authority. She knew better than anyone else in that office what was going through Steve’s head, and she offered him the same vulnerability. A trust had built between them when they had been on the run, and now, whenever Natasha was alone with Steve, the mask of the Black Widow was rarely used anymore. Despite her part in the day’s events, he had to give her credit for that much.

Steve’s fists tightened against the rail, surely leaving dents. “Fury didn’t tell me they knew where he was. All this time, I could have gone to him, and this is what it takes for me to find out?” He kept his eyes firmly locked to the skyscraper horizon, not wanting to see her expression. It would either be pity or analysis, and he didn’t know which was worse. He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It’s not right.” It was all he could manage to say; he could have gone on for days about how the one person he ever cared about finding could have been so close to being within his grasp since everything that had happened since the Shield’s public fall, but because of one man’s decision, head of Shield or not, they had still been kept apart for so many months.

As if seventy years wasn’t long enough.

Natasha could read him like a book, and saw the anger and guilt warring on Steve’s face. “You’re right,” she agreed. She sighed and leaned against the railing beside him, nudging some of her weight against Steve as if to help ground him. “Fury’s a real son of a bitch sometimes. You know I would have told you sooner if I could. But it’s still up to you now to make the call. He’s in deep, Cap. He’s here, right now, and he needs his friend.”

Steve let out a long, suffering sigh. Of course he knew that. It’s what he didn’t want to have to acknowledge. Of anyone else it could have been, it was Bucky that was on the infirmary floor of Stark tower, locked behind a massive slab of bullet proof glass that was triple locked from both sides, with the man in question bleeding out of a massive gash in his side. The first two doctors to enter the room had had icy spears hurled at them, and the first of the two had found himself in critical condition just down the hall from the patient they were supposed to be tending.

Steve knew that he was the only one Bucky would let enter the room, let alone allow close enough to help make any progress. It was because of that exact reason that he couldn’t go to Bucky’s holding room, at least not right away. It had been seventy years – granted, take away the notable few that he was on ice – of uncertainty, lack of closure, of never knowing where his best friend had gone. The first time things had gone south, Steve had been there to save him. He’d ransacked an entire Hydra base on the infinitesimally small chance that Bucky was still alive, and his efforts were rewarded with a shaken, but whole, Bucky Barnes. But the second time? Steve never even found Bucky’s body. And the guilt only bit down harder on his already raw heart when he had found out about all the torture Hydra had put him through. And it was all Steve’s fault. He hadn’t tried enough.

But Natasha’s words echoed in his head. Bucky was here, now, and he needed his help. From what Steve had been told, by both Fury and Natasha, along with eager interjections from Clint, it had been a rough mission that had gotten Bucky here in the first place. Earlier in the week, Fury had gotten wind that the Winter Soldier was going to be used to assassinate a foreign politician of high standing, with Hydra hoping to kickstart a nuclear war. Natasha and Clint were the only ones sent, and were able to stop Bucky from getting to the politician, but in the chaos that ensued, one of the foreign guards managed to get a knife drawn towards Bucky hardly a moment after Clint had shot an EMP at his metal arm. The arrow had left the soldier’s defenses down, and he fell to the floor in pain – right on top of the blade. Natasha had acted quickly, leaving the guard that had attacked Bucky just one of the many casualties of the day, but had immediately called in for extraction. She had been the one to tranquilize Bucky and get him strapped in for the long haul back home. It had to be her; the Shield agents in the chopper were too awestruck that they were about to transport the Winter Soldier without any prior notice. One of them had the audacity to question the action, and when the others hesitated in kind, Clint gave the all hell, shouting about Natasha having more clearance that they could ever hope to sniff out in their lifetimes, and they had all jumped and scrambled to get ready for takeoff.

Bucky hadn’t yet said a word since his graceless capture, and nobody could get close enough to assess the extent of his injuries. The medics had hardly had enough time to get Bucky into the holding room before his system had burned through all the anaesthetics they had pumped him with, like a stray dog at an open buffet. Only here, the stray dog was a superhuman serum preventing him from getting the medical treatment he needed.

The moment Bucky’s eyes were open, he was on his feet and raising hell, sending fists and ice alike into the surrounding medical team. Nobody had gotten a chance to even glance at his injuries. The medical team had learned soon enough that they were hilariously ill-equipped to handle their newest patient. Eight doctors with nothing particular super about them except their trained ability to treat injured and cranky, but usually cooperative, Avengers sorely lacked the qualifications to treat a highly uncooperative super soldier who was prone to violent outbursts when provoked. It was right about when the two doctors had been sent to critical just down the hall that they had gracefully stepped aside and decided to instead call in Fury’s judgement to guide them. That was when Steve had been clued into the whole thing, previously unaware of the disaster that was going on barely ten floors below him. Bucky was hurt, had probably been in excruciating pain this entire time, and nobody had told him.

Natasha nudged into Steve again, pulling him from his thoughts once more. “So what do you think? Let’s go see how your boy’s doing?”

Steve ran a hand through his windblown hair, still not at ease with the situation. He told himself that Natasha had done her best; she had made the right call, and taken action to help save Bucky’s life. Everything inside of Steve wanted to scream in protest, not wanting to see Bucky like this after so long. After the Helicarrier, Steve knew that Bucky was alive and kicking, and that had been good enough for him. He had told himself that he’d wait until Bucky found him; that he’d wait until his friend was ready to speak to him again, if that day ever came. But now, even that choice had been taken from him. “Yeah.” He forced himself to speak, voice tight. He spoke through clenched teeth, as if it would hold the pain at bay. “Let’s see how he’s doing.”

Natasha smiled, making light of Steve’s stubborn tone, and reached up to rub soothing circles onto his back. Her touch was far too warm to only be natural heat, and Steve found himself enjoying the flow of energy. “Atta boy. Let’s get a move on; I heard that if he gets his hands on any more of Stark’s staff, Tony’s gonna head in there himself and show him what’s what.”

Steve released a shallow, breathy laugh despite himself, and leaned into the touch, allowing himself the comfort that he would have otherwise denied himself. He was glad for Natasha’s inability to be phased by any uncomfortable situation, even one as urgent as this. He didn’t know if she felt any measure of guilt for what had happened, but if she did, she was doing her best to hide it. Probably for both their benefit.

“Now that I’d love to see,” Steve chuckled, then turned towards the door to head back inside. He had a new friend by his side, and he was ready to face the first and only person who had ever meant more to him than life himself.

He just hoped he could accomplish what everybody assumed he could.

* * *

Seeing Bucky behind the glass wall was like seeing a massive, wounded tiger. Feral and predatory, but in immeasurable pain and too prideful to show it. The Winter Soldier may have been suited to cramped living quarters, but Bucky was certainly not. The soldier stood attentive, glued to the back wall of the room, eyes intently tracing any shadow that passed by the one panel of glass that was left transparent. He was in foreign territory, and any sign of movement could be a threat, but he’d been in the cell for hours, and the constant attentiveness was beginning to wear him down with how much blood he had lost.

Steve went to stand at the glass, square in the middle of the one transparent panel in a line of reflective ones, placing himself right where Bucky could see him. He watched his old friend standing rigid and breathing heavily and littered in cuts and bruises, eyes never leaving his, while trying to find the words to say. Natasha sat off to the side, safely out of sight and ready to intervene should anything happen, but Steve hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Those steel blue eyes watched Steve’s every movement, every shift, cataloguing them and no doubt calculating for potential weaknesses. Steve thought he saw Bucky in those eyes, but given how recently he had been used as the Asset, he was painfully aware that even Bucky’s gaze could have been calculated, just a tool to use as a weakness against him.

Steve was certain that he didn’t have to tell the man in front him that if he tried anything, Steve wouldn’t have the heart to lift a finger in his own defense. Not now.

Everything inside Steve wanted to run. After so long, after so much uncertainty, his long lost and presumed dead friend was standing here, right in front of him. There was so much Steve wanted to say, and he knew that now wasn’t the time to say any of it. All the guilt, the broken promises and shattered dreams, they all led up to this very moment, here and now.

Steve took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Hey, pal.” He spoke clearly, giving his words time to soak into Bucky’s no doubt crackling mind. “They tell me you’re hurt pretty bad. You wanna tell me what happened?” He tried to keep his tone casual, impersonal, in case there was any chance that Bucky didn’t remember who he was. As far as the wound, Steve had already been briefed while in Fury’s office, but he wanted to give Bucky the benefit of answering for himself, while also gaining himself a moment to assess Bucky’s condition.

Bucky’s intense gaze never left Steve, but he shifted uncomfortably, letting Steve see that his metal hand was clutching tightly at the opposite side, just below the ribs. The movement was slight, anything but casual, and Steve knew it was a blessing that Bucky was even addressing his wound at all. To anyone else, the brunet was just standing awkwardly, with nothing of importance to note. But he had shown Steve exactly where he’d been injured. It was a small step, but it was still progress that even the throngs of doctors couldn’t accomplish. With all the layers of black Bucky had been wearing since they found him, Steve couldn’t tell how bad the wound was, but from the stiff shuffling, ghastly pale face and labored breaths, Steve knew it wasn’t nothing. Bucky’s training with Hydra had gone deep, and for him to be showing any outward signs of an injury meant that the chances were high that it was bad. Really bad. None of Steve’s training could have prepared him for facing this ghost.

Natasha’s words echoed in his head once more. Bucky was here, right in front of him, and Steve was the only one who could help him. Instinct took over almost immediately, and Steve drew in a breath. Any chance of keeping the conversation impersonal was now out the window. “Alright, Bucky, I’m gonna need you to help me out here. I’m gonna come inside to see the wound, but I need you to promise me that you won’t throw anything at me like those other guys, alright? Like I said, you’re hurt pretty bad, and I just want to make sure you’re gonna be ok. I’m here to help, Buck.”

Something in Bucky’s expression shifted. Instead of becoming more attentive as Steve approached the door, the brunet’s stance relaxed, and he leaned heavily against the wall, looking at Steve through heavy eyelids. Bucky nodded slowly, and Steve took that as his cue.

The glass door softly shut behind Steve. Now, the only way out was if Natasha unlocked the door from her end. The room was simple: white walls, sterile furniture consisting of a bed and nightstand set off to one side, and spotless white linoleum floors that were only marred by the thin stream of blood that led straight to Bucky. Even from where Steve stood several feet away, he could see the small pool of blood beneath him, and from when the doctors had been there, several bloody footprints that made their way around the room as well. And in the middle of it all, as far against the back wall as he could possibly be, staring at Steve like a caged animal facing death, was Bucky. It wasn’t a pretty sight by anyone’s standards. Good thing he was an Avenger. He had faced impossible odds before; he could certainly handle this.

He hoped.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said softly, voice raw with unchecked emotion now that he was alone and nearly unguarded with Bucky. He could easily pretend Natasha wasn’t there, that it was just the two of them alone. “I’ve missed ya, pal.” He pretended not to notice the thin trail of steam steadily rising from Bucky’s flesh palm as he approached the brunet, curling into wisps as it rose, but he did feel a pang of sympathy for the doctors who had gotten icy spears hurled at their heads. How fitting for the Winter Soldier to wield ice as a tool, Steve mused bitterly. Hydra had clearly done more to his friend than he had originally thought.

Bucky breathed in, a shaky, labored sound, and swallowed thickly. He forced his fist tightly closed while the other remained latched onto the skin beneath his jacket. Steve watched as the trail of steam from Bucky’s flesh hand slowly died out, and allowed some of the tension to drain from his shoulders. “Heya, Stevie.” Bucky’s voice was slurred, as if he could hardly focus on his words past the pain. Instead of offering more words, as Steve approached, Bucky just kept his eyes shifting from Steve’s own to the rest of the movements his body made, clearly fighting to keep the Soldier’s instinct from taking over.

Steve saw the caution that still laced Bucky’s gaze, even when he recognized him. He didn't miss the tension that lingered in his old friend's shoulders, either, likely begging him to fight or run, but to make a move instead of standing still and letting his target approach like this. With all that Bucky had been through, Steve couldn’t blame him. Hydra had undoubtedly indoctrinated some horrible association deep into his mind to be able to make him go after Steve in the first place, even as Captain America. The Avenger couldn’t help but let a little pride slip through that his old friend had been strong enough to break free of that conditioning when they fell from the Helicarrier. There was still some of his old friend in there yet. He just had to hope that there was enough that this whole thing would work in his favor.

Instead of going straight for Bucky, Steve turned and made to sit on the crisp white bed. He motioned for Bucky to join him as he sat down, but the injured man made no move to follow.

“We alone?” Bucky rasped out.

Steve wasn’t sure how to interpret the meaning behind the words, but he hesitated anyway. He nodded in understanding, and walked over to the intercom in the corner of the room by the glass panels. “Hey, Tasha?” he called through. “Gonna need some space for a while. I’ve got my com; I’ll give you a shout if anything comes up.”

The redhead could hear the forced casual tone that Steve was trying for, and was silent for a moment before responding. She knew all too well what it was like to show vulnerability in a potentially hostile environment, and if she could give Barnes the respect of distance, she would be more than happy to oblige. Besides, Rogers was the only one she trusted to be alone with the assassin. “Loud and clear, Cap. Just heading to grab a coffee. Keep me updated.”

Steve gave a distracted nod, glad for the trust between them, and turned back towards Bucky. “Alright, then, let’s get you settled. Come on.” Steve reached for Bucky's arm, the one that wasn’t pressed against the wounded skin, and pulled it up to wrap around his shoulders. He helped Bucky hobble towards the bed, splashes of red dripping the entire way. For Steve’s own sanity, he pretended not to notice.

Bucky expression twisted at the pain, nearly heaving as the skin was moved, and Steve kept a careful eye on how glazed over his friend’s gaze was becoming. Steve grasped for words of comfort, and when he couldn’t find any, a distraction. “You know the pair that rescued you? The archer and the spy? She’s the one who came down here with me. You’re in good hands, Buck.”

“Didn’t need any help,” Bucky said stubbornly as he collapsed onto the bed, snarling as the wound was shaken. “I was doing fine before they interfered. What’d they tell you about this, anyway?” He asked carefully, gesturing at his side with his free hand.

Steve glancing downwards to where Bucky’s hand was still hidden under his jacket. “Nothing good. Now lemme see.” Something made Steve pause. “So you remember me, huh? Wouldn’t let those other guys come near you. Guess you just have a soft spot for me." He even managed a small smile.

Bucky huffed. “Nah, just wanted to see that ugly mug of yours again. You still do that thing with your hands?” he asked, nodding towards the tool in question. Steve saw that Bucky’s eyelids were beginning to droop, and knew it didn’t herald great news for Bucky’s condition.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Steve urged. “Yeah, that’s why they sent me down here; ‘cause your punk ass wouldn’t let anybody else near you. I told you, I’m here to help. Now let’s see the damage.”

Bucky hesitated, jaw working, but eventually insisted Steve place his hand on the skin before Bucky removed his own. The skin was icy cold, but Steve was certain that was by Bucky’s own doing. “Watch it,” Bucky snapped. “Whatever they told you, it’s worse.” Carefully, Steve peeled away the leather jacket that was practically soaked through with crimson. Underneath it, the shirt was glued to Bucky’s skin from the blood that had dried there, and Steve let out a long, low breath at what he saw.

The knife had torn right through the skin, leaving a huge, deep, open gash that was indeed far worse than what Steve had been expecting to see. But really, he should have known it wouldn’t be less; for Natasha to intervene and bring him here for Steve to work on, logically, he knew that it had to be nothing short of gruesome. But when Steve could see straight through the open skin to the inner workings peeking out, he only wanted to throw up. He had to fight to keep his breakfast down.

“Bucky, why the hell didn’t you let the doctors do something about this? They could have helped; it’s literally their job to keep your sorry ass alive.” He couldn't keep up the calm demeanor any longer; his fear was only too happy to slip past his guard as white-hot anger and frustration. While Steve was grateful for Natasha’s quick actions and whatever kept Bucky on his feet, he couldn’t look his friend in the eye knowing he’d been dealing with such a debilitating wound for so long. It was true that Bucky hadn’t let anybody help him, but if Steve had been told any sooner than he was, he could have eased the man’s pain substantially. When the pressing issues were taken care of, Fury was going to have to make a hell of a case.

Steve wouldn’t meet Bucky’s gaze, but that didn’t stop him from seeing the scowl he was rewarded with, out of the corner of his eye. “Serum. Training. Doesn’t matter; none of your guys would give me anything to close it up with, so I didn’t,” Bucky snapped, but the malice drained from his tone just as quickly. He gaze a strained sigh, gaze wandering hesitantly up to Steve's. “You still do that thing with your hands, right? Just do it already and fix it. Fuckin’ hurts.”

“Yeah. I got you, pal, don’t worry.” Steve said, voice softening. He flexed his fingers, feeling the energy and heat course down into his hands like mist rolling across a grassy plain at dawn. The feeling was almost foreign after not using it for so long, but it was still an instinct as easy as breathing to him. He placed his palms atop the wound, careful not to agitate it further, and closed his eyes. Steve filled his lungs deeply, over, and over, and over.

Steve’s world shrunk to himself and the body in front of him. He could almost see the golden light flowing from his hands into the blackened skin, spreading into the bloodstream and cleaning away the pain and death. Beneath him, the warmth seeped deep into the wounded flesh, and the relief from the pain was so potent that the tension slowly but surely left Bucky’s stomach. Still Steve let the gold flow like a river, watching the festering black and agonized red get flushed away as if he were simply washing the wound with water. But he felt it go so much deeper than that. Soon black was replaced with white, and the gold became a network, forming a lattice across the skin. When Steve heard Bucky finally, blessedly, breathing normal, deep breaths instead of the shaky, shallow ones he had heard since he had entered the room, Steve knew he was finished. He left one last layer of gold atop the wound for good measure, akin to a gauze bandage, and removed his hands before opening his eyes.

Bucky’s eyes were closed, and a relaxed, lopsided grin was plastered across his face. One hand still stayed near where the wound had been, a lingering instinct, but the other had strayed to find Steve’s own. Steve looked down at the skin, which was still covered in blood, but where before there had been an angry red surrounding the enormous gash, now there was only a patch of latticed skin, no more offensive than stretched skin or scar tissue. Back during the war when he had practiced daily, Steve would have been able to heal even that, but with the serum present enough in Bucky’s body to keep him standing past that measure of injury, Steve was sure that even that would heal in a few days’ time. The serum didn’t leave much room for half-baked recovery.

When Steve had finished assessing the healed injury, he glanced towards where Bucky’s hand held his own, and gave a smile. “Feeling better?” He could see that the energy had spread further than where it had placed, and even the small cuts and bruises that had dotted the assassin's face seemed to have faded. 

“You’ve got no idea, pal. Feel like a million bucks.” He gave a laugh, and Steve had to sock him in the arm for that one. Bucky’s expression sobered, and his gaze met Steve’s, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “For real, though, thank you. I didn’t think I was gonna make it out of there. Tell the redhead that, uh, I appreciate it.”

Steve fought to not let his expression fall. “You’ve got a lot of people who wanna help you, Buck. You don’t have to be alone.”

Bucky pulled his hand from Steve’s, and sat up to leaned against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chin. “Yeah. I know,” he said quietly His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted, almost like there was something he wanted to say, but couldn’t.

Steve sat up straighter, his gaze intense. The words poured from him unbidden, without thought. “You don’t have to go back to them. You know who you are. And you’re damn well not Hydra’s tool.”

“No. I don’t know.” Bucky bit his lip, keeping his eyes low. “This… this is the first time I’ve ever been away from them.” Bucky’s voice cracked as he continued on. “After the Helicarrier, they found me again, Stevie. Fried my brain, pumped me full’a chemicals, the whole nine yards. The truth is, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t remember anything. It comes in flashes, but... it always goes.” His gaze lifted to finally look Steve in the eye, expression settling into something akin to grim determination. “That’s not true. No matter what they did to me, I always remembered you. Even on the days where all I wanted to do was to put that gun in my mouth, it was you who kept me breathing.”

Steve’s heart jumped to his throat, and without thinking, he reached up and wrapped Bucky in his arms. Tears fell to his cheeks unbidden. “God, Bucky, I’ve missed you so much.” Bucky tensed at first, but then relaxed in Steve’s grip, even lifting his own arms and squeezing the blond back. “Stay,” Steve pleaded. “You’re safe here. Stay here, and we’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let them get to you again.”

Bucky held on tighter. “Yeah, I think I’d like that,” he said quietly. A shaky breath fell from his lips, one that had nothing to do with his prior injury. “I’m so goddamn tired of runnin’, Stevie.”

“Then don’t. You never have to, not now, not ever again.” If Steve ever again heard the pain that was in Bucky’s voice, it would be a lifetime too soon. He would do him damnedest to make sure that Bucky was the most guarded man in New York, if not the world. And he was sure Fury wouldn’t mind having one of the most dangerous assassins under close watch as well. Steve pulled back, running his hands up and down Bucky’s shoulders. “You should get some rest. When you’re feeling up to it, I can introduce you to the others. Properly, this time. No mission. Just people who want to help you.”

Instead of replying, Bucky pulled Steve back to him before settling back down on the bed. Steve was only too happy to comply, shimmying up against his long time friend and letting a comfortable, if exhausted, silence fall between them. Steve remembered all the times they had done exactly that during the war, albeit with a much less innocent goal in mind, but he made no mention of it, even in jest. Bucky wasn’t the same person he had been before the war, and with everything he’d been through, Steve had no intention of pushing him towards any particular outcome. If Bucky remembered what they had been as time passed, it would be by his own recovered memories, and if the man that Steve had loved – still did love – more than life itself chose him one more time, well, then he’d be the happiest man alive. But no matter what, he would be by Bucky’s side throughout his recovery, every step of the way.

Steve reached up and kissed Bucky’s forehead, and wrapped his arm around the brunet. They were both bigger than before the war, and hardly fit on the bed, but neither of them cared. They were reunited, in each others’ arms once more, and that was all that mattered.

Steve had been searching for home all this time, and now it was finally back, tucked safely in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Have an idea for a fic you want me to write? Let me know in the comments! <3


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